Black Phoenix
by n1ght3lf
Summary: To quote James Baldwin, "The most dangerous creation of any society is a man with nothing to lose." The Wizarding World is about to find out just how dangerous.


These had to be the worst days of James Black's life.

And that, he thought, was saying a great deal.

Everyone around him died, it seemed. His parents died when he was very young; his godfather, in his early teens. He'd thought he'd finally left those days behind, to be honest. He'd taken control of his life, made a nice peaceful existence for himself and Anna and little Ginny...

Dammit, he'd built this life! Why... why...

When he was a child, his aunt and uncle had said his parents had died in a car accident. And when he finally builds a family... they die in a car accident. Drunk driver, as Anna was taking Ginny home from school. He'd almost laugh at the irony of it all... if he wasn't screaming inside. So here he was. Another funeral. His life seemed to be full of them. He could feel his cousins' presence next to him - a very small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

A very small comfort, because deep down he knew... eventually they'd leave him, too.

"No, we won't," Cousin Selene replied, and James blinked. Selene always seemed to know what he was thinking; she had for as long as he'd known her. James simply shook his head. No... Selene was wrong. He was going to live and die alone.

It was then that he felt it - and his heart leaped to his throat. He looked to his two cousins, his eyes wide. He pulled his wand out of his suit pocket; his cousins reacted to it.

"Anti-app, anti-portkey. Someone's coming." He walked to the side of the church, desperate to be as inconspicuous as any grieving husband could be, cast a notice-me-not charm, then sat back to watch.

It didn't take long. The charms the aurors used were designed with muggles in mind; none of the other mourners blinked as they strode down the aisle, their scarlet coats trailing behind them. The pair looked at the bodies lying in state, sneered, then began to examine the congregation, muttering all the while.

"Nothing here I can see...looks like another mudblood from the muggle ranks," the first one whispered to the second. He approached the smaller of the coffins, and gave it a soft pat. "Sorry, kid. Magic's our plaything."

"Oh, well," the second sighed. "Can't be helped. Headmaster Snape once said he thought magic itself had a sense of humor; how else could you explain so many mudbloods?"

James stared, disbelieving, at the pair at his daughter's coffin. They'd killed her. Somehow, they'd detected her magic, and they'd killed her.

In that moment, a wave of ice washed over his body. He felt... nothing. No grief, no anger, no anguish. Nothing. He looked to his cousins.

"Dora, can you do your own antis?"

Cousin Dora nodded. "We'll cover your back. You can take two flunkies, right?"

James nodded. He strode up to the pair, then blinked as Selene followed him. She gestured to the second auror, indicating her own target; James nodded slowly, knowing nothing he'd say would discourage her.

James snuck on the first auror, and poked his wand at the back of the auror's neck. Selene, bless her heart, timed her own mugging perfectly. "Don't move," James hissed. "Drop your wands, spares, and all magical items, or the Ministry's going to have to use a LOT of obliviates."

Both aurors' eyes widened, but they carefully dropped their wands. They also dropped the spares in their sleeves.

He growled. "Why are you here?"

The first auror reached into his pocket for his emergency portkey; James relished in the terror as they realized the tables were turned. "Sorry. No escaping from this. Again, I say... why are you here?"

"We don't have to tell you anything," the first snarled. "Doesn't matter if you kill us; the Dark Lord will be hunting for you soon enough."

He growled. "Imperio."

The first auror quickly relaxed. The second looked as though he was about to act, but the wand at the back of his neck kept him at bay.

James sighed. "I've been hunted before. Now. Why... are... you... here?"

"Standard operating procedure," the auror replied in a monotone. "After a mudblood child elimination, we go to the funeral to see if any relatives are wizards in hiding."

James took a deep breath, desperate to keep himself calm. "How did you find out my daughter was magical?"

"We check schools for magically-active children, and mark them for elimination," the auror replied.

James took several deep breaths. "How did you kill my child?"

"Alcohol weakens the mind," the auror replied. "We directed the driver to plow straight into their auto at full speed."

Tears were starting to fall down James' face. "Why?"

"She was a mudblood," the auror shrugged, as though it explained everything.

James nodded slowly, then came to a painful decision. There was only one thing that could be done. "Slowly walk to the side exit of the church. Selene, take the lead."

He didn't allow his eyes to leave the auror, no matter how much he wanted to. He'd already come to a decision. He waited until the aurors were out of sight of the crowd, then took a deep breath.

"Reducto!" Selene whispered; the second auror's head exploded in a shower of gore. The first auror, still under the Imperius, merely blinked.

James sighed, and whispered his own sentence on the other auror. "Reducto!" A second auror's head exploded; a second shower of gore covered James and Selene. He sighed, looked at the pair of headless aurors, and began to tremble.

Selene pointed her wand at the pair. "Finite! Evanesco!" In an instant, blood and gore and auror vanished; the aurors' bodies disappeared as though they had never been.

James' hands were shaking as the adrenaline crashed; he barely noticed as Dora eased his wand from his hands. In a moment, he was sobbing on his cousins' shoulders, beyond consolation, beyond hope.

They'd killed his family. Again.

***

"It's time for Harry Potter to come back."

James looked at Dora, hatred in his eyes. "No way. No how. You know what those monsters are like. Light, dark, it doesn't matter; they're all bastards. What good would going back do?" His eyes narrowed. "You want your name back, Nymphadora?"

Dora growled. "If it means fighting against that bastard... yes." She smiled mirthlessly. "But no one ever called me the girl-who-lived."

James deflated visibly at those words. "Right now, I'd give anything for my daughter to be the girl-who-lived..."

Selene sighed. "What are you going to do?"

James looked at Selene, his eyes dead. "They aren't going to leave me alone, are they? They have their system, and they aren't going to leave me alone - ever."

Selene nodded slowly. "Probably not."

James sat back, his eyes turning to the ceiling. He wasn't stupid; Hermione had instilled in him enough of an appreciation of learning that he'd studied the lessons of history. He'd studied the best and worst of humanity, how societies valued life and cheapened it, and he knew. Societies didn't change views like that - not without being beaten to death first.

He idly wondered whatever happened to Hermione.

A sad grin came to his face. "There's only one way this can end."

Dora blinked. "End?"

"'Neither can live while the other survives'," James quoted. "It's part of a prophesy that had that fool Dumbledore manipulating my life; he believed I was the only one who could beat the monster." He took a deep breath. "The problem is... I can't fight just him. I have to fight a *society*." He grimaced. "I have to kill the wizarding world."

"Become their dark lord," Dora supplied. At that moment, her hair changed, from auburn to pitch black.

"Basically, yes," James answered. "What makes a dark lord, anyway? Those who resisted the Nazis were villified by the Nazis... but eventually applauded and honored once the Nazis went away." He growled. "They murder. While they live, I can't." The tears returned. "They.... killed my family. Again. Simply for existing." His eyes burned with hatred. "They called themselves Death Eaters. If they want death... I will serve it to them. I will become their Dark Lord. I will have them fearing every shadow, I will have them terrified for their sons and daughters. And I will kill them - every last one of them." His gaze finally fell. "They deserve at least that much."

Selene nodded. "Okay. If you're going to do this, though... there's a few things you'll need to do first."

James raised an eyebrow.

***

A notice-me-not charm was decent enough in a pinch, James thought as he walked through Diagon Alley. However, nothing was as good as his invisibility cloak. Nobody saw him enter, and no one would see him leave.

Diagon Alley was a much quieter place, almost somber now that he looked at it. Diagon Alley's population had been cut in half, it seemed; far fewer witches and wizards graced the district. Most of the old places - Malkin's, Ollivander's, Fortescue's - were still in business, though a few places had closed and remained closed. He couldn't help but look longingly at an empty, dusty shop marked "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes"; part of him was glad they'd achieved their dream of a joke shop, but he knew the ending could not have been well.

The statue at the crossroads of Diagon and Knockturn, though, made his stomach turn. He'd seen that face enough. He'd seen its youthful version as it sought to destroy an innocent girl, and seen an older, twisted version as he dueled in the Riddle cemetery and later in the Department of Mysteries. The sculpture there was probably Riddle at his physical best, grown into a man, without the twists the mess of his life had created. He stood over the body of an old, aged, even grotesquely-carved wizard with a long, flowing beard. James sighed; it wasn't difficult to figure out how the war had gone. The inscription underneath spelled out the rest.

"Lord Voldemort. Savior of The Wizarding World. Defender of the Magic, Destroyer of the Mudblood Threat. Vanquisher of The Pretender Albus Dumbledore, May 20, 1997."

James turned to look at the people of Diagon Alley. There were surprisingly few aurors in the streets; perhaps the war truly was over, and Voldemort had the society he wanted. As the statue advertised, no muggleborn dared show their face; indeed, no scrap of muggleborn clothing dared show its face in the alley. All wore wizarding robes or wizarding garb of some type, without exception.

One other bit his eyes noticed: all of them, without exception, wore some version of a signet ring. He understood; one way to ensure everyone who did business was of proper wizarding stock was to make sure they had a family to call their own. He wondered what would happen if either he or his cousins tried to make a purchase; would be fun to see how a shop would react to a Potter, Black, or Lovegood ring...

He shook his head, then stared at them. They went on with their lives. They were happy. They laughed, joked, whispered, kissed, hugged... they were happy.

His eyes turned back to the statue, and he snarled. They were happy on a graveyard. On the blood of thousands of muggleborn and halfbloods and those who had the courage to stand in Riddle's way.

They were happy on the blood of his wife and daughter.

Careful not to go too fast and attract attention to himself, he made his way back out of Diagon Alley and back to the world he knew. He had a lot to think about.

***

It was curious, James thought, that this would be the first time he'd ever left Britain.

He absolutely refused to fly. Life had instilled in him a healthy case of paranoia; no way was he going in anything that would hurt that much when it failed. A car normally would have been the preferred route, but after Anna and Ginny... So, the only method was by train. He figured he could take care of anything by train. Besides, it wasn't like he was some ickle third-year Hogwarts student staring at a dementor; he'd seen too many years since then, and he knew how to handle himself.

The train had just stopped at Ashford before starting the journey underneath the Channel; James sighed. Maybe he just needed to get out of Britain for awhile. Get some perspective, see someplace that didn't make a habit of murdering his family. Selene had wanted him to go to France to visit with the Delacours, to introduce Harry Potter back to the wizarding world -

His eyes widened. He should have known the aurors would patrol any transportation out of the country!

Fortunately, as stated, he had already developed a healthy state of paranoia. In a flash, he'd pulled out his invisibility cloak from his bag, and glanced meaningfully at Dora and Selene.

They understood. Dora's features shifted, aged; in a moment, she looked like some old crone, rather than a vibrant young woman. All the better to underestimate her. Selene, on the other hand, cast a notice-me-not - not perfect, but the best defense she could give under the circumstances.

The aurors entered their car a minute later. They looked curiously at the old woman in front of them.

"Oi, Granny! What're you doing?"

"Oh, my, sonny... what do you want with me?"

The two looked at each other, then sighed. "We know you're magical somehow. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to come with us."

Dora blinked. "Me, magical? What nonsense are you going on about?"

The first auror snarled. "Don't get fresh with me, you old biddy! Now come on!" He grabbed her, then fingered in his pockets for a portkey.

He never got the chance. James looked at the bloody mess that was two aurors, and sighed.

"Selene, Dora, you handle the obliviates. I'll clean this up."

***

Michel Delacour was not a happy man.

The French Ministry of Magic was in a difficult situation. After Voldemort had taken power ten years ago, all the rest of the wizarding world had held their breath, wondering if their country was next. The answer for the French, as it turned out, was both yes and no. Voldemort would not commit himself to a full war, oh no... he'd just supply training, weapons, and money to those purebloods in France who would fight their war for him. France had become what Britain had been before the war - and he was not happy.

Which, of course, left him staring at one of the sources of his ire. He stroked his beard, fixed a cold glare on the trio in front of him, and asked the one question that he had to know the answer to.

"So... Mister Black, or whatever you're calling yourself. Why did you run? I know you had courage once. Why?"

James eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore didn't want me, sir. He didn't even want a weapon. He wanted a martyr."

Michel blinked. "What do you mean?"

James pursed his lips. "If you had a one-year-old child prophesied to kill the next Dark Lord, how would you treat him? How would you raise him?"

Michel frowned at the question. "I would provide her with whatever she needed - but I would make sure that she was raised with steel in her veins." He grinned. "Prophesy or no, it is how I raised my daughters. I knew they would face hardship because of their heritage."

James tilted his head to one side. "Would you tell them why?"

Michel nodded. "Of course. We had discussions with Fleur and with Gabrielle long before they reached Beauxbatons, so they would understand who they were and what was expected of them."

James took a deep breath, then began to unbutton his shirt.

Michel's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

James tore off his shirt, revealing numerous scars along his skin. Michel gulped as he recognized whip marks. "After my parents were killed, Albus Dumbledore left me with my aunt and uncle - against my parents' expressed wishes. They were muggles, and they hated magic. They tried to 'beat' magic out of me." He pulled his shirt back up. "Albus Dumbledore never bothered to check up on me. He never bothered to see the abuse, the malnutrition, the scars. He tossed me away until it came time to go to Hogwarts."

He growled. "People often said that Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain. If so, then I'd hate to see their idea of 'unsafe'. My defense instructor first year was harboring Voldemort's spirit in his body; they tried to kill me, but failed. Second year, I was bitten by a basilisk while saving Bill's youngest sister. Third year was actually peaceful by comparison; everyone thought Sirius was trying to kill me, but we know better now. Fourth and fifth year... well, you know most of that. And through ALL of that, Albus Dumbledore never told me why. Never told me why it was me they were targeting. Even worse, he'd send me back to my aunt and uncle every summer... for more abuse. The one time he arranged for me to spend extra training... it was with Snape. You can guess how successful that was."

Michel winced. James sighed, and continued. "After the mess at the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore finally told me. Finally told me why it was me they were after. According to some prophesy before my birth, I have to be the one to kill him." He growled. "Strange things were happening at Hogwarts my first year - and it took him FIVE YEARS to get around to tell me why. And even then, he did almost nothing to help me accomplish it." He sighed. "Albus Dumbledore was setting me up to die, Monsieur Delacour. And I wasn't about to be manipulated by him another minute. I left while I still had a life to live."

Michel Delacour sighed. For not the first time, he cursed in French and muttered about the intelligence of those across the channel. "I... see." He looked back at the black hair, the lightning-bolt scar. "And why are you here now?"

"I asked him to come to France, to see you," Selene interjected. "With what he's planning... I felt you would be the one in the best position to help him."

"Help him?" Michel asked incredulously. "What does he need help for?"

"They killed my wife, my daughter," James replied. "I'm going to return the favor."

Michel blinked at the announcement. Harry Potter, or James Black or whatever he was calling himself, was going back into the war. Clearly, on his terms. This was...

He thought back to an attack in Calais, near a wizarding beach resort. The French Death Eater operatives had set fire to the hotel, then butchered anyone who ran to escape the flames. Dozens were killed. He'd toured the scene the next day, taking note of the dead and the few Death Eater casualties, and vowed to find some way to stop them.

This was payback.

"You are one man. What do you plan?"

James Black narrowed his eyes. "I want to bring their entire society down. They killed my daughter because she had magic. I want them to know what it is like to fear for their own children."

Michel raised an eyebrow. "You mean to become Voldemort's Voldemort."

"They killed my family - again," James whispered hoarsely. "They deserve to die."

Michel took a deep breath. "I am going to need to talk with some colleagues of mine. The situation has become far more perilous than you realize. I will submit my idea to my colleagues; if they approve it, they may be able to give you some materials that you wouldn't have access to otherwise." He smiled. "In the meantime, we should go to my chateau. We will discuss the details there - and you need to repair your relationships with what friends are left."

***

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

James wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, then looked up at the man who punched him. Behind him, the various women of the household debated whether or not to interfere. "Nice to see you too, Bill."

"Don't give me that, you worthless piece of dragon shit! You left us! You abandoned us to die!" Bill swung another punch; James moved out of the way, grabbed Bill's fist as it passed him, and slammed him into the wall, twisting his arm to pin him there.

"I'll explain everything, if you'll let me. Now are you going to calm down?"

"Do you know how Ron died?" Bill snarled. "They crucified him, Harry! Those bastards _crucified_ him! He was your best friend, and you left him to die!"

James winced, but tightened the grip on Bill's arm. "I said I'd explain it. Now are you going to calm down?"

Bill growled for a moment, then visibly relaxed. "Yeah, I will. Besides, I'm not the one you have to worry about."

James released Bill's grip. "What do you mean?"

Bill's eyes pointed back to the women congregated at the stairway. Harry's eyes looked toward the group - and stopped.

Selene and Dora she knew. A trio of blondes were trying to herd several children and keep them from interfering - no doubt Apolline and Fleur and Gabrielle. But it was the last one - the redhead - that caught his attention.

"Ginny."

She strode toward him, her eyebrows knitted together in concern, her brown eyes sizing up every part of him. She'd grown up well, with the last of her baby fat long gone. What remained was a woman of striking beauty, with incredible cheekbones, well-proportioned breasts, and inviting hips accentuated by the black witch's dress she wore. Her long red hair framed her face, wisping around her as she strode up to him, cocked her hand back, and slapped him across the face.

"Where the hell have you been?"

James rubbed the mark on his cheek. "If you give me a bit, I'll explain."

"Fine," Ginny snarled. "Explain."

James took a deep breath, and calmed himself. "What if you found out that everything you knew - everything you ever believed - was a lie? That someone who you thought of as a grandfather had basically done everything in his power to not only screw what life you'd lived, but make sure you wouldn't be around to enjoy the rest?"

Ginny blinked at the description. "Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore," James spat. "He knew from the day I was born that I'd have to face him. In spite of this, he left me with the Dursleys, despite my parents' wishes. He never did a thing to prepare me for the battle to come, and basically left me out to hang. He never even told me the prophesy until after the Mysteries battle." He shook his head. "I was being prepped for a suicide mission... by making sure I wouldn't survive it."

Everyone backed up at the confession - everyone except Ginny. "Yeah, well we were ALL left to hang after you left! We tried to fight as best we could, but with you gone... there wasn't much point. The Ministry fell the year after you left; after that, the war went from a fair fight to a hunt - with us as the prey." Tears started to fall down her cheeks. "Mom and Dad died when they came for the Burrow; we begged them to leave, but they refused. The 'Aurors' trapped them inside, and burned the house to the ground." Her voice started to break; she put her face in her hands. "C-Charlie... led a suicide charge with one of the dragons; much of the Ministry was damaged, but... but Voldemort knocked him from the mount."

She took a moment to catch her breath; she wiped her eyes with her sleeves. "Ron and Hermione heard something from Dumbledore... that Voldemort had used horcruxes to tie his soul to this realm. So they started hunting for them. One... one you already destroyed - the diary." She took a deep breath. "They actually managed to get most of them, we think. From what we learned from Horace Slughorn, Voldemort planned on making seven of them. But... they could only find six. And the sixth..." Ginny shook her head. "They figured out the sixth was Nagini. So Ron decided to sneak in and kill him - alone. He... Oh, Merlin, he succeeded, but..."

"Ron was captured on his way out - and Voldemort was not forgiving," Bill supplied. "For killing Nagini, he decided to crucify Ron. The bastard even cast healing charms to extend it out... Ron was mad with pain by the end, but Voldemort wouldn't finish it. It... it took a month for Ron to die." He shook his head. "No one's seen Hermione since. She probably followed your example - went into hiding, and never came out."

For a moment, a wry grin appeared on his features. "As for the twins, well... most of their remaining stock and raw materials from their joke shop went into one last ride. They died... but they died the way they wanted to - in a blaze of glory." He took a deep breath. "Look, Harry, or James, or whatever the hell you're calling yourself now. Yeah, we know you got screwed. Nobody gave you a choice on this - and, if what you say is true, then Dumbledore was a right prat. But a lot of people suffered because of it - a lot of people."

"And what could I do?" James asked. "With who I was then and how poorly I was trained then, there was no way I could beat Voldemort." He took a deep breath. "Now, though... I don't plan on going after Voldemort - not at first."

Ginny blinked. "Then who are you going after?"

James' eyes burned. "Those who supplied money to fund Voldemort's war. Those who sat back and allowed it to happen - and didn't fight the monster, thinking it would keep them safe. Those who collect the taxes that go into Voldemort's coffers. Those with gold watch fobs who thump their chests and rail about defeating 'the mudblood menace'. Those well-meaning parents who say nothing as muggleborn children are systematically found and slaughtered." His voice broke. "Those monsters who killed my wife, killed my daughter."

Silence hung over the room for a few seconds, finally broken by Ginny. "Merlin, Harry... you mean to kill them all, don't you?"

James nodded. "I thought I could escape. I was wrong." His green eyes burned into her. "And I plan on making them regret they ever thought about 'blood purity'. I'll show them just how pure their blood is... by spilling it in the streets."

***

John Dawlish was not happy.

His job had become surprisingly easy since Voldemort took power. No one dared go against someone who believed in old-fashioned punishment; a few impalings, a few crucifixions, and no one felt like skirting the law anymore. Once the hunts had stopped, being an auror had become one of the safest jobs in the wizarding world.

Which is what made these disappearances so perplexing. Aurors Tannenbaum and Zabini vanished from their border patrol; they'd reported a wizard somewhere on the rails, then disappeared. Things only got worse after that when he sent the general report command through the Mark, and two more aurors failed to respond.

What made things disturbing was what those two aurors were working on. Aurors Malkin and MacSkimming were working the annual school checkup this year; they went from school to school in the guise of muggle doctors, tested the muggles for their health (and their magic), and marked any student with an active core for elimination.

Dawlish didn't believe in coincidences. Malkin and MacSkimming had stumbled on something or someone - someone powerful enough to kill them. Then, whoever it was understood their cover was blown, and ran for France - where Tannenbaum and Zabini were killed. Which meant either they'd stumbled on a group of exiles - or one very powerful exile.

Sighing, he looked through Malkin and MacSkimming's notes, at the list of students that they'd marked for elimination. Roughly 30 students so far, about normal; muggleborns usually occurred at a rate of about 50 per year, and Malkin and MacSkimming were about halfway done. He looked through the names one at a time, trying to find anything. None of the names stood out at first, until one family name jumped out at him.

Virginia Black.

Dawlish sighed. He remembered the Black family; with the possible exception of the Potters and Dumbledores, they were the family most destroyed by the Great Wars. In fact, the only Black left in the wizarding world was Narcissa Malfoy; all of the others were dead or in hiding. If a Black was on the run... The Dark Lord would need to hear about this.

***

"Apolline, could you take the children out for a moment?" Michel asked.

Apolline nodded, rose from her chair, then looked at a sea of blonde. "Jeanne, Dominique, Louis? How does a walk through the orchards sound?" The children nodded and followed Apolline out of the dining room.

Michel wiped his lips with his napkin, then reached for his glass of wine. "Before we start, I feel I should remind you that what I'm about to talk about never happened, that you will never speak of it to anyone outside of this room. I'm going to want wizard's oaths to that effect."

James, Dora, and Selene all gave their oaths, then blinked. "No need for your family to take their oath?" Dora asked.

Michel smiled. "They took their oaths years ago. Now... before I start, I need to give you some background information." He took a deep breath. "When the Scrimgeour government fell in late 1997, all of the other wizarding governments - including our own - knew there would be trouble. The Death Eaters had operated throughout Europe, though were far less active; we knew that, once they had their own home, they'd try to start branching out into Europe - especially to here, in France."

He shook his head, and sighed. "Unfortunately, our suspicions proved correct. New versions of the Death Eaters started cropping up all over Europe and North America. At the same time, we noticed that certain conservative politicians were gaining access to far more capital than they had previously. We've done a better job of containing the problem than our British brethren, I think - it helps that any politician discovered to be taking Death Eater money is basically ruined - but we are not fools. We have been bleeding for the past decade. I've been at the scene of too many Death Eater acts in my homeland to know that things are anywhere near right."

He took a deep breath. "Which is why we started to make plans to invade Britain."

James' eyes widened. "War. A wizarding war."

Michel nodded. "Right now, we're frustrated - very frustrated. The Brits send their aurors into our country to train terrorist groups, send their money to those groups to kill our children, and they deny every event. We're tired of it. If it keeps up, a full wizarding war is going to break out, statute of secrecy be damned." He pulled out a set of files, and set them in front of Harry, Dora, and Selene. "Which is why we're authorizing this. If they're going to fund terrorist groups in our country, then we'll do the same thing - and show them that we're a lot better at it than they are."

James blinked. "We are?"

Michel smiled, but any mirth failed to reach his eyes. "There are advantages to not closing your eyes to the muggle ways. The Americans have come up with some nasty tools that any magical terrorist could use. Some of them are fairly ordinary - untraceable portkeys and invisible suits, for instance - while others, such as magical feedback fields and counter-shield explosives, are remarkably inventive."

"Magical feedback fields?" Dora asked.

"Imagine a magical field designed to take any magic and turn it against the item or being that contains it. It literally burns any wizard - any magical creature - any magical item - alive." He sighed. "It would have been our nuclear solution, had events spiraled out of control."

James whistled softly. "You aren't kidding, are you?"

Michel pulled out several more files. "These are the case files of French Death Eater attacks. One attack on Calais three months ago; one attack on the Rue de Waitier last year while Beauxbatons students were visiting; and the assassination of Chief Justice Montblanc two years ago. Every time we've called the Brits on this, their response was always the same. 'We had nothing to do with the tragedy,' they'd say. 'Our Lord, and all of the British wizarding people, send out their condolences to the families of all pureblood wizards killed in the attack.'" He snarled. "Every time, those bastards would say that. I want them to know what it's like to be on the receiving end, to have them hear the words, 'We categorically deny having anything to do with this tragedy.'"

James took a deep breath. "So what do you suggest?"

Michel grinned ferally. "We want Voldemort 'on tilt', to use a Muggle term. We want every wizard in Britain fearing for their life, questioning that Voldemort's government can protect them. And, to be honest, they can't; Death Eaters were good at being offensive, but they don't know what to do about fighting a defensive war." His dark eyes twinkled. "In other words... start big. Let them know the terror's back."

***

Invisibility cloaks had one serious flaw, James thought as he walked through the Three Broomsticks toward the men's room. They could certainly disguise... but they were bulky, and difficult to handle. He suspected it was like coordinating all the movements needed for a dress. An invisibility suit, on the other hand, matched every movement. He had full range of motion, and he didn't have to worry about tripping on the cloak. The matching rucksack allowed him to conveniently carry any load he needed.

He looked around for a moment, making sure no one was nearby. Hogsmeade was having one of its Hogwarts days; literally hundreds of students were enjoying their time shopping, buying candy, having butterbeer and ice cream and other treats. That fact pinged against his conscience, but didn't last long; all he needed to think about was his own daughter's shattered body as he identified her in the morgue. He took the canister from his sack and carefully unscrewed the top; he noted the pin there, and the black color inside. He placed the canister underneath the sink, then gingerly pulled the pin from the canister. He waited for a few seconds, his eyes never leaving the canister; slowly, the color changed from black to red. His task done, he looked around, careful for any other people in the bathroom, then eased his way out.

Thirty canisters. One canister - designed to approximate the conditions in a Plinean eruption - could make a firestorm out of a neighborhood. A few canisters could burn a city block. Thirty canisters would turn a small town like Hogsmeade into a burning cinder. Once armed, each was designed to activate with the nearby casting of a specific spell; the canister would sense the specific magical signature, and ignite.

James walked out of the Three Broomsticks and ran out of Hogsmeade. He knew there wouldn't be much time; notice-me-not charms weren't infallible, and someone would discover a canister eventually. He needed distance; he needed to get at least a half-mile away from the town, because the town was going to die spectacularly.

It took about 7-8 minutes for him to reach what he thought was a safe distance; he looked down at the town from the entrance to the valley that contained it, looked further to the castle that had been his home for five years, and stopped. His heart was pounding, his hands shaking. He'd set up the town for destruction; all that remained was to light the fuse. He could feel the mask of his suit becoming moist with his tears.

He aimed his wand to the sky, to the clouds high above Hogsmeade, and whispered quite possibly the most destructive spell in wizarding history:

"Anozira!"

A dark purple stream shot from his wand - the spell he'd agreed on with the French weapons developers. James watched in fascination as the stream exploded above Hogsmeade to form a dark bird, its wings spread across the sky.

A Black Phoenix - a light cause turned horribly dark. The phoenix hung in the sky... just as Hogsmeade exploded in flames.

James dug into the jacket of his suit, and activated his portkey. He needed to find a toilet - and fast.

***

Severus Snape stared out the window of his office, his eyes focused on Hogsmeade in the distance. It was always good for the students to get out for a weekend, to burn off their excess energy before coming back and focusing on their studies. He was not an inhuman taskmaster, nor was he an idiot; he understood that students needed a break from their studies, and Hogsmeade was perfect for that. Give them a few hours among the Three Broomsticks or Honeydukes or Gladrags, and they're much less surly when they come back. Besides, the second-largest threat to peace and order in his school - Zonko's - had closed a decade ago, so he didn't have to worry about most pranks.

Finally, peace. He wouldn't have agreed with how it happened, but the Dark Lord had finally achieved peace. No more terrorist acts; when the former terrorists are the government, who is there to be the terrorists? No one had to fear in Voldemort's world; crime was not tolerated, so crime had decreased significantly. The warfare and strife that marred most of his life was a thing of the past - and he'd give anything to see that continued.

He blinked as he watched a spell arc into the sky, and sighed. While the joke shops were long gone, a few enterprising students came up with their own. He had a bad feeling that Isley was testing out a new firework, and shuddered.

Oh, wait. Isley was in detention with Filch after turning the transfiguration class into a giant hamster cage, complete with running wheel. Then who...

He blinked at the shape the fireworks took - a burning bird, flying high into the sky. Dangerous to show a phoenix, though the colors might be forgivable. After all, the phoenix shown was dark, almost black... long dead.

Then the village erupted in flames, and his jaw dropped. No spell could do that - no hundred spells could do that! How... how...

Without hesitation, he ran from his office to the outside, to apparate to the edge of Hogsmeade. Those were his children in there - and he had to do whatever he could to save them.

***

James rose from his kneeling position, wiped his mouth, and looked at his face in the mirror.

He'd finally done it. He'd finally become what he'd most feared.

He'd become a monster.

He couldn't win. He knew that now; in a way, he always knew it. Succumb to death, or become Death? This was ordained in its own way; ever since Voldemort marked him as his equal, this had to happen.

Well, he was Voldemort's equal now. Voldie killed muggleborns by the thousands; he killed purebloods by the thousands. His stomach rebelled again; he knelt back in front of the toilet, in case there was anything left in his stomach to vomit.

"James?" Selene whispered behind him.

He turned around, his arms hugging the porcelain. "Don't call me that, Selene." He turned back around. "I... I am Harry Potter. Voldemort's equal. The boy-who-killed."

Selene nodded. "Harry... I know right now you're hurting, more than anyone thought possible, but there's something you need to hear." She sighed. "And if you're back to being Harry, then call me Luna."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think anything can help right now."

Selene - Luna - took a deep breath. "Harry, I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to think about all of this. What power does Voldemort have to kill the muggleborn?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Not much. I mean, he's a powerful wizard, but he usually has other people do that for him."

Luna nodded slowly. "And how many?"

Harry stopped. "I... I don't want to think about that. I don't want to think about any of this."

"I know this is harsh," Luna sighed, "but they made their choice long ago. No one 'made' them support that monster. No one 'made' them support a regime that killed the people we love." She knelt down next to him, and hugged him softly. "Before this, if we had shown our face - if they knew where we were - our location would have been reported, and we probably would have been killed. They DID find out about your daughter Ginny - and they DID kill her. Anna, too." She shook her head. "I know it hurts. But it's us or them."

Harry heard the words. He understood the words. He knew Luna's words were right.

That didn't help him much. He sagged into her embrace, crying uncontrollably, knowing just what sort of monster he'd become.

***

For perhaps the first time in its existence, the High Council of the Ministry of Magic was silent.

These were people used to death. They had fought at Lord Voldemort's side for years. Mayhem, torture, and murder was a game they knew well.

And for the first time, they knew they were outclassed. Avada Kevadras killed one person at a time. Even the purges through the Veil killed only a few dozen at a time at most. The worst death tolls they'd ever racked up were from sealing people in their houses while it burned. This... death on such a massive scale... was unheard of for them.

Finally, Voldemort sighed, and looked to those around him. "How many dead?" he asked softly.

Severus swallowed, and adjusted the fit of his collar. "Hogwarts... shows two hundred and seventy-eight students missing out of a total enrollment of three hundred and ninety. Also, seven of my professors are missing: Sprout, Hooch, McClaggen, Smith, Anderson, Grey, and Burnside." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "The rest is estimation. Judging by the normal population of Hogsmeade... I would say that total casualties range somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand."

"Were there any survivors?" Voldemort asked softly.

"Hogsmeade was sterilized," Snape replied. "There was nothing left of anyone but bones."

Voldemort steepled his fingers together. "I see." He looked upward for a moment. "Tell me. Who has the ability to kill ten percent of the wizards in Britain in an instant?"

"Has to be the Americans, my lord," Lucius Malfoy supplied. "You know how they are willing to work with that... unnatural technology."

"I don't think so," Snape answered. "This had to have come from a former member of the Order of the Phoenix. Only one of that old order would have put the phoenix symbol above the village."

Voldemort purred. "This symbol... describe it for me, Severus."

Severus gulped. "It was dark purple, almost black. Flames were licking from its wings as it flew." He grimaced. "It was most definitely a phoenix, my Lord."

"A black phoenix. How droll." Voldemort rubbed his face with his hands. "Tell me, Severus. Who among the Order of the Phoenix is still unaccounted for?"

Severus frowned. "Potter, of course... Granger... Tonks... Lovegood. Two of the Weasley clan involved with that group are still alive, though both are known to be in France; it may be a good idea to consult our spies there to see if they have anything to report. Other than that..." Severus shook his head.

Voldemort smiled grimly. "Who do you think it is?"

Severus took a deep breath. He thought about what he knew of the survivors... then remembered a discussion from the previous month.

"Dawlish? Do you remember that report you gave a month ago about the aurors disappearing?"

Dawlish blinked and nodded. "Yes. We suspect from our investigation that the aurors were killed, and their bodies disposed. As near as we could tell, it is likely that one of the children from our muggleborn cullings - one Virginia Black - was related to the Black clan in some way."

Severus heard the name, then chuckled mirthlessly. "Virginia Black. 'Ginny' Black. God, you're slipping." He turned back to the Dark Lord. "Your murderer is Harry Potter. I'd stake my life on it."

"Potter?" Voldemort's eyes bored into Severus. "You're that sure?"

"Potter was enamored of Miss Weasley during their time at Hogwarts. He was also Sirius Black's godson and designated heir." He looked pointedly at Malfoy. "I do agree with Lucius, though, that he couldn't have come up with this on his own. He had to get help from somewhere - and considering that he likely took a vacation to Europe..."

"I... see," Voldemort replied. "Lucius, tell your ambassadors to start leaning on France and Germany and the States. Clearly they had some form of involvement in this. Give them veiled threats that such behavior, if continued, might lead to war." He grinned maliciously. "As for Potter..." His eyes focused on Dawlish. "You wanted the aurors. Use them. I want Potter brought to me by the end of the month. Otherwise... someone else will have the aurors."

Dawlish gulped, then nodded. "As you wish, my Lord."

Voldemort sighed. "It is time the people were introduced to their enemy - to the monster that would take away their children." He grinned. "Let them know of the monster Dumbledore created. Let them burn with anger. We'll use it to fuel the people against him." He rose from the table. "Dismissed."

***

"Come in, Hermione."

Hermione Granger walked into the office and sat down in front of General Andrew Morris, her boss and head of M-DARPA. Morris seemed too thin for military, Hermione always thought; even with the uniform he wore, he looked as though a strong wind could blow him over. His dirty-blond hair was cut in the standard military buzz; magic spoke in his azure eyes, touched with gold. "I gather this is about Hogsmeade?" she asked.

Morris nodded. "As you probably know by now, we just had the first live test of your PPF."

Hermione sighed. "I remember going to Hogsmeade when I was younger. Back then, blood purity was on the lunatic fringe, rather than government policy; I could enjoy a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks or sweets at Honeydukes or... Merlin, even the Shrieking Shack is gone." She covered her mouth. "I never thought... Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick."

Morris levitated his wastebasket toward her; Hermione accepted it gratefully. "I... I... God, I can't believe..." She took a deep breath. "I... I've killed before, Andrew. The stakes were too high during the war; it was kill or be killed, and I wasn't above firing a reducto at a person's head." She shook her head. "But so many... at once..." She shrugged. "At least they didn't feel any pain."

Morris shrugged in sympathy. "The operative received the PPFs from the French Unspeakables. He placed thirty of the canisters in strategic points within Hogsmeade, ran to a safe distance, then set the canisters off." He sighed. "They worked better than anticipated. Hogsmeade, and everyone in it, was completely destroyed." Morris swallowed; he wasn't sure what else Hermione knew. "Also... it was timed to occur during a Hogwarts weekend. Hogwarts was gutted; except for a few students who were forced to stay at school, every student from years three through seven were killed."

Hermione stared at her boss, not believing. "Wh... What sort of monster would..." The question forced her to ponder the answer. "The French would never send one of their own, even after Calais. They would just declare open war against Britain. We wouldn't have sent a person, either; again, we would have declared war instead. Which means it's a British exile."

"Actually, we may send someone to France, to help coordinate with the operative," Morris supplied.

Hermione blinked. "Really? Who?"

Morris took a deep breath. "You."

"Me?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "You want me to go there? To help... someone like that?"

Morris nodded. "The head of the Unspeakables department in France believes that you are uniquely qualified to keep the operative alive."

Hermione blinked. "Why me? Yes, I designed some of his equipment, but..." Her mind started examining the situation. "He's a British exile. He specifically targeted children - which means he likely lost his own child in the muggleborn culls, because he would have acted far earlier if he'd lost a child in the war. That puts his likely age at somewhere between 25 and 35. The operative also inspires enough confidence in his abilities that the French trusted him with top-secret and experimental weapons." She fixed a concerned stare at her boss. "It's Harry, isn't it?"

Morris sighed. "They haven't said who their operative is. Potter's the prime suspect according to the Death Munchers, but that's likely speculation."

"I'll go," Hermione sighed. "Harry... the Harry I knew wouldn't have wanted to live after something like Hogsmeade."

Morris nodded. "Pack up your notes and manuals, and start planning what devices the operative might need. You leave in a week."

***

"How are you holding up?" Michel asked.

Harry stared morosely into his soup. "I wish I knew." He shook his head. "I just killed a thousand wizards with one spell, and I feel... nothing."

Michel nodded slowly. "Not a record anyone wants to set - most wizards ever killed with a single spell." He took a sip of his own soup. "The British are blaming you, of course - saying you'd come back as a form of petty revenge."

Harry's eyes flashed green. "Revenge, yes. Petty? No."

Michel shrugged. "The Brits have it guessed right, to an extent, though they're blaming the Americans as much as they're blaming you - saying that only 'perverse techno-wizards' would dare create a spell so destructive. Which is hilarious, as the canisters were created and developed by British wizards."

Everyone at the table sat up at that news. "They were?" Tonks asked.

Michel took a deep breath. "Who do you know who could compress a large land mass - such as a swamp, or the heart of a volcano - into a small space?"

Ginny gasped. "Fred and George... but their notes were lost during the war!" She frowned. "Wouldn't Voldemort have them?"

Michel smiled. "The notes were smuggled out before Voldemort could get a hold of them. Exiled British wizards have been working on adaptations to their research ever since."

Ginny leaned back in her seat. "I... At least they got their revenge."

Michel nodded slowly. "So. As callous as it sounds, Harry, you have their attention. Now. What do you want to do with it?"

Harry grimaced. "What options do I have?"

"Well..." Michel sighed. "That depends on your long-term strategy. You need to define victory. Is genocide your victory? Is the death of the Death Eaters your victory? Or will you settle for a political statement?"

Harry took a sip of his soup. "I don't think I have many more options in regards to killing them. I could roast Diagon and Knockturn Alley and maybe the Ministry building, but what could I get besides that? I doubt I could get into Hogwarts - though I doubt I need to at this point..."

"You have more options than you realize," Michel answered. "You can destroy Diagon and Knockturn; in fact, I'd recommend it, because it would seriously destabilize their society to not have a meeting place." He reached for his wine glass and took a sip. "You can do what Voldemort did in his heyday and hunt individual families down - that would put a severely chilling effect at the highest levels of their society, when they realize supporting Voldemort could lead to their families being hunted down and killed. You can make a political statement; imagine what would happen if you took control of the Daily Prophet for a day. At the end of the day, you'll probably end up doing some combination of all three."

Harry blinked. "So we can take over the Prophet?"

Luna smiled, and took a sip of her own wine. "Harry? You might want to talk to the daughter of a newspaper publisher for this one."

***

Lucius squirmed in his seat. He knew his Lord would not be pleased.

The first sign he had that something had gone wrong was when he opened up the morning paper. He was expecting the usual progress: investigations of the Hogsmeade ruins, revelations on the Hunt for Potter, accusations against the Europeans and Americans, and Voldemort's compassion toward the families of the victims. When he opened the paper to find "Voldemort, Ministry Kills Thousands" as the headline... he realized that the paper was anything but normal.

The issue, for the most part, was a 'memorial' issue for those killed in the mudblood culls. The editors - likely under Potter's direction - wanted to put faces to the statistics, make sure the wizarding world saw the mudbloods as human beings. There was also an article on Lord Voldemort's family tree, about how he was the half-blood child of a Slytherin heir who bewitched a muggle into becoming her husband, who then left her when he'd shaken off her spell.

Clearly marked on the paper was a simple message: While Voldemort and the Council lived, no wizard was safe - no man, no woman, and no child. By supporting a regime that murdered children, their own children became targets. The paper overall was professionally done, which was why he knew the Prophet staff had to be involved; no way could Potter have come up with the paper on his own.

He looked over at Dawlish, who appeared even more uncomfortable than he did. No doubt; Voldemort was probably close to crucifying him.

Voldemort stormed into the room, threw a crumpled paper at the High Council table, and sat down in his chair. "Explain this!"

Lucius gulped. "It is... difficult to say, sir. Sometime in the night, we theorize that several people, likely Potter, took control of the Daily Prophet. Instead of printing their usual edition, they printed their 'Mudblood Memorial' edition." He raised an eyebrow. "I must say, the slanders against your upbringing are surprisingly creative..."

"Enough, Lucius!" Voldemort hissed, and Lucius tilted his head to the side in surprise. He knew the Dark Lord - knew how he responded to almost every situation. Voldemort's reaction was not the reaction of someone being lied about. It was more fearful - the reaction of an unpleasant truth being revealed. Lucius filed the information away for future use - just in case.

Voldemort let out one more growl for good measure, then sighed. "What else can you tell me?"

"When we questioned the Prophet staff still on site, they were surprised that it even happened. They said that they vaguely remembered producing their usual paper; they didn't remember anything about the edition they sent." Lucius sighed, exasperated. "A few of the staff there said they must have been under the Imperius."

Voldemort didn't have an eyebrow to raise; that didn't stop him from trying. "Anything else?" he hissed.

Lucius adjusted his collar, for the moment hoping he'd keep his neck. "As near as I can tell, this also had to be an inside job. Could Harry Potter have set this edition up so quickly? No. He had to have some inside help - likely inside the Prophet itself."

Voldemort looked down for a moment, deep in thought. Lucius knew what was coming. Whatever he said afterwards would be law, to be followed to the letter. If someone was to be tortured, they were to be tortured; if someone died, they died.

After a moment, Voldemort straightened up. He sighed, almost contentedly; for a moment, Lucius swore the Dark Lord smiled.

"Clearly, the Daily Prophet has been allowed too much leeway in its reporting. It is time that it be seized by the Ministry, as it has proven itself to be a threat to the stability of wizarding Britain." He looked over at Lucius, then over at Delores Umbridge. "It is also apparent that someone in the Daily Prophet has helped Mister Potter. Detain and arrest the staff and their families; find out who among the staff assisted Mister Potter in his foray into journalism. Impale the chief editor first, so that there is no doubt as to the seriousness of our investigations." He then turned to Dawlish, and twitched. "And Dawlish? Find. Potter. Now. International search, if you have to. You have all of my aurors at your disposal. If I have to have another meeting like this, I will be giving your replacement the task of finding you."

Voldemort paused for a moment. "Now that I think about it... Lucius?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Yes, my Lord?"

Voldemort placed his finger against his chin. "You said earlier that two surviving Weasleys were in France. Is that correct?"

Lucius nodded. "William and Ginevra Weasley are both living as guests of Michel Delacour."

Voldemort nodded appreciatively. "How... convenient. Send a note, as well as some money and material, to our friends across the Channel. Perhaps we should show Potter who wrote the book on terror."

Lucius grinned.

***

Harry took a deep breath, and looked at the glowing runestone. It was time.

This was measured - painfully measured, but measured nonetheless. A contingent of aurors was always needed for one purpose or another, no matter the time of day or night. Someone had to look after the Ministry building; someone had to be on call if an emergency came up.

And those someones had families.

He'd spied the aurors entering the building for the graveyard shift, and compared them to the list of aurors that Michel had given him, along with their probable addresses. Voldemort was on the warpath; they would be tied to their jobs for at least the next eight hours.

Eight hours to let them know the price of being aurors.

The first step was to find the bedroom windows - not a difficult challenge, given the nature of wizarding architecture. Once there, he would extend the nozzle through a crack in the window - also not a difficult challenge. After the nozzle was inside... he'd activate the device, and let it work. One device for each window was more than enough.

While he certainly could have used the canisters like he did last time, in this case he wanted to be more subtle. The device was a combination of two devices the twins had developed years ago. The extendable ears adapted into a tube to enter into the house. The gas canister was an adaptation of the dungbombs from before, except that a nice time-slowing charm was added to keep the explosion from being an explosion. Also... these bombs didn't smell like dung. According to Michel, these little devices smelled like almonds. Within ten minutes, a large-sized bedroom would be saturated with the gas.

The auror would come home, tired from a night's work. Nothing would seem out of the ordinary; the wards would charge back up once the draining rune was removed. Maybe the hydrogen cyanide would still be in the air, maybe not. But the silence...

He knew that silence.

So would they.

He walked up to the first window, set the device down, and pushed a button. He took a moment to remember his daughter, her shining eyes, her laughter, all the while desperately trying not to think about who was inside the house.

***

Harry picked himself up from the ground, and glared at the floo he'd just passed through. Couldn't the wizarding world make a form of transportation that didn't knock you on your tail?

He sighed, dusted himself off, and looked around the Delacour manor. Through a door, he saw much of the family gathered around the dining table, apparently reading. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could hear Ginny crying softly.

"Um... did I come at a bad time?"

All eyes turned back to him... and the crowd parted to reveal the center. Ginny wiped her eyes; he'd been right about the sound. And the person next to her, a hand on Ginny's shoulder...

"Hermione."

Hermione took a deep breath, and walked slowly toward him. She looked carefully at him for a moment, her eyes picking out every detail, even as he noted the details of her features - brown hair held back in a headband, the soft brown eyes softly cast in tragedy. Once upon a time, he'd found her burning, insatiable curiosity pleasant and humorous. At the moment, though, as her eyes bored into him, he almost found himself wishing for the Weasley family greeting - slap first and ask questions later. After what seemed an eternity, she stopped, and looked him in the eye.

"Hi, Harry. It's been awhile."

Harry looked carefully at her. "I... I'm sorry. About Ron."

She nodded carefully, her own eyes cast down. "Tonks and Luna told me about your wife and daughter. I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "Merlin, I've made a mess of things."

A set of emotions played across Hermione's face: exasperation, sadness... finally settling on resignation. "I think we all have."

He bit his lip. "So how have you been?"

She gave a muted chuckle. "I've been working for the American Department of Magic, helping them come up with... well, with what you've been using. It's... Fred and George would have been in heaven there. The way they mix technology and magic... it's incredible, Harry. Just incredible." She swallowed nervously. "And you?"

Harry sighed. "I... I don't know. Right now, I'm hurting too much to think about it. I... I actually had a life I could live with - and they took it away. Again."

"I... suspected as much," she replied. "The DoM didn't give me the details of who destroyed Hogsmeade... but the only person who could do so was a British exile, one who'd suffered a recent loss, and one who the French trusted. There weren't that many who could fit the profile."

For the first time in the discussion, Harry chuckled. "Hermione? Don't ever change."

"Too late," Hermione whispered hoarsely. She took a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes, and looked up at him. "Harry..."

Desperate for a change in topic, Harry looked over at the watching crowd. "What was Ginny crying about?"

Hermione brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "Oh... I brought Fred and George's notes with me. I thought Bill and Ginny would appreciate looking through them."

"That... that was thoughtful of you," Harry replied. Silence hung over the pair as they looked away from each other.

Hermione finally broke the silence. "Harry?"

"Yeah, Hermione?"

"Are you okay?"

Harry took several deep, shuddering breaths before responding; there was only one answer to that question. "No, Hermione. No, I'm not. And I doubt I'll ever be okay again."

***

Jacques Houle narrowed his eyes as he fingered his wand.

He had reason to be nervous. Calais was a short trip away - and he didn't want a repeat of that debacle.

Traffic along the channel tunnel was strictly monitored from both sides. The British had made the French tense ever since Voldemort had taken power; after Hogsmeade, it was likely the French had returned the favor. No one had any proof, and the unspeakables weren't speaking, but there were strong suspicions that his countrymen were involved.

And that made everyone nervous. War would likely start as a surprise, even if it wasn't a surprise, which was why every connection between France and Britain was monitored.

Five magical cores. The train coming in held five magical cores. He gave his colleagues a meaningful look, pulled out their invisibility cloaks, and moved toward the platform.

Houle frowned at first when the wizards got off. There were only four there; a man, a woman, and two children, each carrying or wheeling an antiquated set of luggage. It was the man's face that caught his attention first; each French auror was required to memorize the face of their British counterparts, and that wild black hair and dark eyes belonged to a senior auror in Voldemort's employ. His wife was unrecognizable, though her hairstyle was odd; curly red bangs hung low on her face, almost purposely covering her forehead and eyes. These oddities caught his eyes first; because of this, it took a few seconds for him to figure out where the fifth magical core was coming from: the woman was pregnant. He gestured to his colleagues, and began to surround the group.

The man stopped, lowered his luggage, and raised his hands. "Marietta, kids? Stop for a moment; put your hands up."

Houle raised an eyebrow, and opened his cloak. "You knew we were there?"

He nodded slowly. "Most of my colleagues are... sloppy. By comparison, my school days were ground zero for the war. You learn how to spot a poorly-used invisibility cloak when your life depends on it."

Houle sighed, and began searching their pockets for wands. "What's your name?"

The man sighed. "Blaise Zabini. Former senior auror in the British Ministry of Magic."

Houle nodded. "Why are you here?"

Blaise smiled wistfully. "We knew Harry Potter; I was the same year as he was, and my wife the year ahead. My wife even studied in his Defense Association back in school." The woman in question blushed. "Potter was a strong wizard - a little unpolished, but notoriously strong. Voldemort feared him for a reason." He swallowed nervously. "The Ministry believes aurors - aurors like me - killed Potter's family. I am the head of my family, now; my older brother was killed by Potter a few months ago, and the rest of my relatives were roasted at Hogsmeade." He shook his head. "I'm not stupid; I want my family to survive."

Houle nodded slowly. "We're going to need to take you into custody. We usually allow British exiles refugee status in our country, conditional on a Wizard's Oath to obey the laws of France and to not serve the Voldemort administration in any capacity." He sighed. "That said, I suspect my superiors are going to have a long talk with you."

"Understandable." Blaise sighed. "Also, important. If you're going to talk with me, it might be best to get to the point."

Houle raised an eyebrow. "What point?"

***

The picture wasn't much, all things considered - just a simple portrait of a young man, his wife, and his daughter. The man looked younger, happier; he marveled at just how young the man appeared, the relaxed joy and contentment in his green eyes. The woman's blue eyes twinkled with laughter as their hands wrapped around their child; a flash of memory came to him, as he remembered the scent of lavender in her hair. Their daughter smiled with the innocence of childhood, a gap-toothed grin shown for all to see, her mother's eyes shining up at the camera. He remembered her soft whining as her mother brushed her long brown hair, only to shift in happiness as her mother put her in the purple velvet dress. They'd made a day of it; after the photo was taken, they'd spent the day touring the sights in London, and enjoyed a fancy dinner at Le Gavroche that night. He remembered the tender way he and Anna had made love that night, after they'd put Ginny to bed; they talked about maybe having another child, but decided to put it off 'for a little while'.

"Harry?"

Harry sucked in a ragged breath, and turned to the source of the voice. "Hey, Hermione."

Hermione walked over to the table, and sat next to him. "Is that your family?"

Harry swallowed. "Was my family, yes."

"Is your family," she corrected. "Just because they're gone doesn't mean they stop being your family."

"Yeah," Harry nodded uncertainly. Other images came to his mind as he gazed on her picture - the pristine face of his daughter, her body mangled beyond hope by the accident.

"Hermione?"

Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry swallowed. "How... How did you make it through, after Ron..."

Hermione took a deep, hitched breath. "I... I didn't."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

Hermione wrung her hands together. "After Ron's death... I was an automaton. There was so much death... Dumbledore... the Ministry... my parents... every time I thought I couldn't hurt more, the Death Eaters proved me wrong. Ron... Ron was the bottom." She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I couldn't think any more. It was just me and Fred and George... and I didn't know what to do." She gulped. "Before I knew it, they'd pushed me on to a boat to the States, their notes in my hands. I didn't realize for weeks that they were saying goodbye."

She managed a brave smile. "The Americans were waiting, of course. They talked with me, asked me about 'the British situation', asked me about Fred and George's notes... and gave me an offer. Make their research into something more potent; use their research to fight them." She shrugged. "I wasn't thinking clearly; it was something I could do to fight them. Of course I said yes." The smile faded. "I threw myself into my work. I knew... if I stopped, then I'd collapse. I'd break."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Did you stop?"

"Wizard's pox," she replied. "I'd worked every day for two years. Then one day I find myself home in bed, sick... and everything came crashing down. I didn't stop crying for days. A few friends at M-DARPA came to talk to me, to try to help me through it; after that, they sent a counselor."

She took a deep breath. "Harry... it doesn't stop hurting. Never does. It gets to a point where you can get through the day... but the scars will always be there."

Harry's head drooped. He hadn't wanted to hear that. Weren't these things supposed to fade over time? "Hermione... I don't know what to do. It hurts too much to breathe. What they've done... what I've done... how do I live after that?"

Hermione shook her head. "Only you can decide that."

***

Lucius Malfoy was not happy.

Idly, he wondered what Dawlish was thinking right now. Dawlish had been given his month to find Potter - and he had failed miserably. None of his investigations had produced even a sniff of Potter; they had found a few hideouts that may have been used by Potter, but nothing definite.

And all the while, people kept dying. Except for a nasty incident at Borgin and Burke's where the books had attacked and killed the customers, the attack pattern was devolving into Death Eater Standard - find a family out and alone in the world, and kill them all by compromising their house. Potter had become remarkably adept at killing, and was getting remarkably skilled at targeting important, well-guarded wizards and witches. An entire colony of lethifolds were found at Malkin Manor, apparently hidden in a cloth shipment. A large hill - or maybe it was a mountain, Lucius wasn't sure - was left at the site of Parkinson manor; there was no sign of the manor, the land that surrounded it, or the people that once lived there.

Perhaps the most disturbing event had occurred at Crabbe Manor. Bartholomew Crabbe had opened his manor up for several auror families to stay, including his son's family, thinking that there would be safety in numbers. He'd tried to protect his house any way he could, shielding it from fire, flood, and wind. What he hadn't considered was protection from ice; the manor had been frozen to nothing last night, then shattered like glass. As with every other operation, there were no survivors.

Dawlish had been dismissed with prejudice. The fool had messed up so badly that Voldemort had him crucified for his incompetence - then promptly dumped the job in Malfoy's lap to fix.

And he was finding out just how bad things had become.

"Auror Frobisher."

Michael Frobisher, senior Auror, pushed up the glasses on his nose as he entered. He glanced nervously at the decor of Dawlish's old office, as though he expected someone to jump out at him. "Councillor Malfoy. What can I do for you?"

"Frobisher, I called you in here because we share a problem. And I am desperately trying to find a way to fix it." He looked over his papers. "As of today, we have over forty aurors killed - four killed as Potter escaped Britain, twenty-one at Hogsmeade, and at least twenty killed in the days to follow."

Malfoy swallowed. "Unfortunately, that is only part of the problem. We have received twenty resignations in the past two weeks. And that's the ones we know about; the reason I state 'at least twenty' is that many aurors - over thirty - can't be found. We don't know if they've been killed or if they've run." He sighed. "All totaled, over a quarter of our auror corps is gone."

Frobisher nodded slowly. "Councillor Malfoy, may I be allowed to speak freely, as long as what I say does not pass beyond the Council and our Lord?"

Malfoy nodded slowly. "What is it that concerns you?"

Frobisher sighed. "Councillor... I don't know how long the aurors can remain an effective fighting force - or even if they are."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Frobisher bit his lip. "Many of us are terrified, sir. Absolutely terrified. Most of the aurors are ready to run; if this keeps up any longer, we may not have an auror force anymore." Malfoy blinked as Frobisher growled. "That bastard Potter hasn't just targeted us, sir. If what you say is true, we killed his family - and he's doing his damnedest to return the favor." He grimaced. "If it were just our lives, we wouldn't be caring so much. It's part of the job description. But we never asked for our wives and kids to be involved in this. The only ones who haven't talked about taking a runner are those who aren't married, who don't have families to worry about."

"I see," Malfoy said. He sat back for a moment and pondered the situation. "How much more before it reaches critical mass - before we can no longer protect Britain?"

"That depends," Frobisher replied, touching his fingers to his lips in thought. "If the French or Americans came to call, the Ministry would be doomed; the only way it would survive any length of time is if it barricaded itself in Hogwarts, and from there it would descend into a siege." He gave a wan smile. "As for the day-to-day operations of the auror corps... it probably won't survive if there's one more mass killing like what happened at Crabbe's place, or if Potter keeps up the pressure on the aurors for another week or so. Once that happens, there won't be enough aurors to field a presence throughout Britain."

"And all this is going on as Britain clamors for more auror support," Malfoy supplied. "How diabolical. Do you have any suggestions on how to stop it?"

"Outside of capturing or killing Potter?" Frobisher pursed his lips. "Hmmm... You've hinted that Potter had to have international help - from the Americans or the French. Is that true?" Malfoy nodded. "Then the only surefire way I can see to stopping this is to cut off his support. Make the French or the Americans WANT to turn Potter in."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "And how do we do that?"

Frobisher smiled grimly. "Make them know the price of supporting Potter. Expand the war, while we still have an army that can do the expanding. Kill and kidnap the wives and children of prominent politicians - and let them know what we offer in trade."

***

Judy Moss looked at the targets as they strolled outside, temptingly close, so carefree... perfect targets. She pulled out her wanted book, smiled as faces matched names, and nodded grimly. Weeks of waiting, of burying friends and family... finally Britain would be getting her revenge. Her hand clasped the locket around her neck, and she closed her eyes.

This attack, fortunately, required little advance planning. The SPM (Société pour la Pureté de la Magie) had already been planning an attack on the grounds; Malfoy's 'Operation Detente' simply gave it more backing, as well as coordination. Just as she would attack and kidnap members of the Delacour household, other groups would attack the David, Lambert, and Martin families. By the time the French knew what was happening, their most powerful families would be guests of Lord Voldemort. The French would give up Potter in exchange so the Monster of Hogsmeade could be tried for his crimes.

And finally, the death would end.

Silently, she gestured to her colleagues, and raised her wand. The wards were powerful, true; however, with the exception of the rare fortified position, a trained set of 10-12 wizards could temporarily overwhelm a ward in seconds. She counted down with her hands: three, two, one...

"Fulgetra!" she screamed; a dozen wizards around her followed suit, sending raw lightning into the ward. Burning turpines and ozone tickled at her nostrils; wood screamed in her ear as it protested her power. She could see the ward beginning to flicker and fade, its golden hue faltering in the twilight. Her eyes focused on the hole: just a little more...

"Now!" she screamed, giving the order for the second team began to apparate. The wards had failed enough to allow apparation inside the ward. She gave one more shove of magic into the ward, then made her own way in.

As expected, the Delacours had quickly taken defensive positions; Michel Delacour was no fool, and had placed decorative statues, benches, and columns to serve as defensive cover if need be. The team had selected its own point to take cover, ready to take the Delacours by keeping them busy with part of their team and flanking them with the rest.

Judy looked around, expecting a component of twenty - and finding only J.P., Adrienne, and Luce. Only four had gone through? What kind of morons were these French? She started looking for possible escape routes when a voice chilled her to the bone. She didn't understand the words, except they sounded like the technospells the Americans preferred - and that was all she needed to start moving.

"Defensive position 23 - activate!"

The explosion tossed her off her feet; only years of auror training allowed her to keep hold of her wand. She managed to roll with the explosion and come up behind another statue.

"Drop your wand!" an authoritative male voice called in English. "We don't want to kill you."

She snarled. "You mean like you killed those at Hogsmeade?"

A feminine voice cut in. "You mean like you killed hundreds of muggleborn children? Like you killed my brothers?"

She snarled. If she could keep them talking, maybe she could think her way out of this. "Potter has to die! He has to face justice for what he's done!"

"Kill Voldemort and the High Council first!" a third voice, also feminine, cut in. "Voldemort's made horcruxes; it's how he managed to keep from moving on after he died the first time. Do you know what a person has to do to make a horcrux?"

She swallowed. Horcrux study was one of those things banned in Voldemort's regime. But she had been in the auror corps long before then - and knew exactly what the Dark Lord must have done. "It doesn't matter! My son died at Hogsmeade! Hundreds died at Hogsmeade! Potter has to face judgment!"

She blinked at the next voice that came out. "And Potter's daughter - and hundreds of muggleborn children - died at the hands of aurors," a surprisingly gentle voice replied. "Your son did nothing wrong; we know this. Neither did Harry's daughter. I know you don't want to hear this, but... you sowed the wind."

Judy slumped behind her cover, her hands shaking. "And reaped the whirlwind," she croaked. She looked around; there was no place else to run. Even if she managed to capture one of them... how could she get out? Which left revenge - and killing.

And she'd had enough of killing.

She pulled out her spare wand, then threw both away. "I surrender," she sobbed. A moment later, hands grabbed her and put bindings on her wrists; she made no attempt to resist.

She just hoped her son would forgive her for giving up.

***

"You wanted to see me, Monsieur Delacour?"

Harry Potter walked into the dining room, and looked at the gathering there. Michel Delacour sat at the head of the table, a grim frown on his face; for once, his wife, Apolline, sat at his side at the head of the table, her hand in his. Bill and Fleur Weasley sat next to each other at Michel Delacour's right, their posture eerily similar to Michel and Apolline's. Gabrielle Delacour, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger all sat to the left of Apolline; worried looks marred their faces, and tears flowed down Ginny and Hermione's faces. Michel coughed once, then sighed.

"Harry... last night, the British Ministry of Magic sent over thirty aurors into French territory with the express purpose of kidnapping the family members of prominent French officials. One group was sent here to kidnap Bill and Fleur, Gabrielle, and Ginny. Others were sent to kidnap family members of Minister Adrian David; Speaker of the Assembly Isaac Lambert; and Noémi Martin, head of the Department of Law Enforcement. Three of the four attempts were failures, though not without casualties; Adrian's wife Jeanne was killed in the attack, and their daughter Diane remains at St. Anastasia's in a coma." He took a deep breath. "The attempt on Isaac's family, however, was more successful. Christian and Élise Lambert were kidnapped by a combination of British aurors and French pro-Voldemort forces. A few hours later, the British Ministry of Magic sent a message that was short, simple, and to the point: The Lamberts were to be traded for Harry Potter. We had 48 hours to respond."

Michel shrugged. "As you can imagine, Adrian is not happy; he's almost ready to toss the Statute of Secrecy to take these monsters down. As the British have already invaded and committed acts of war on French soil - and the interrogations of the prisoners we captured prove it - war has already been declared. Our response will be invasion. The Americans, it seems, have been expecting this; they sent over five hundred aurors on twenty-four hours' notice."

Harry nodded slowly. "So... war. What do you need from me?"

Hermione bit her lip. "We need you to take over from where Ron and I left off."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

Hermione rose from her seat and pulled out a blood-red gem from her pocket. "We - you and I - need to find Voldemort's last horcrux. Ron and I determined that he'd made seven; we could... find..." She pulled out the softly-glowing gem, and looked at it carefully. After a moment, she looked up at Harry, her face ashen.

"Oh God... no wonder we couldn't find it... you're the last horcrux."

Everyone, including, Harry, blinked. "Wh... what do you mean?"

Hermione walked slowly toward him, her eyes never leaving the gem in her hands. To Harry, it looked as though the center of the gem pulsed with a bright light; it wasn't until Hermione placed the gem against his forehead that he noticed the pulse of light was actually a line.

A line pointed directly at the scar on his forehead.

Hermione lowered the gem from his forehead. "It must have been the night of the attack," she whispered numbly. "Instead of killing you... the killing curse made you into a horcrux of his. The backlash killed his original body."

Everyone looked on at him in horror; Harry took a deep breath. "So... I have a piece of Voldemort's soul in me?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide.

Harry swallowed. "How do I get rid of it?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "A few purification rituals will remove it; however, such rituals are very dangerous, and can kill the host. The other method..." her voice trailed off.

"What's the other method, Hermione?" Harry asked, already suspecting the answer.

"The other method..." Hermione whispered, her voice cracking, "is your death."

***

Harry laid on the lawn outside Chateau Delacour, his eyes looking up the stars.

Dumbledore knew - and he was right. As much as it sickened him, the old bastard was right. Dumbledore wasn't just leading him to a hero's death; he was leading him to the destruction of the last horcrux. No doubt Dumbledore was planning on him to take the horcrux hunt that Hermione and Ron performed, to ensure that only he would be left by the time they faced off. Voldemort kills him, becomes surprisingly mortal, and someone else finishes Voldie for good.

He wanted to die. He really wanted to die. So many people had died because of his stupidity; it was only fair that he follow them. Maybe if he'd died long ago, Anna would have lived a long and healthy life; maybe she would have had her own Virginia.

The soft crunch of grass underfoot caught his attention, and he turned his head. He noticed a shapely pair of legs, and raised an eyebrow. "Hello, Ginny."

"Hey, Harry." Ginny looked down; she gave him a sad smile. "How are you feeling?"

Harry sat up suddenly, scowling. "How the hell am I supposed to feel, Ginny? The bastard was right; the old bastard was right. He was sending me to my death because I was already damned." His anger faded; the self-loathing was back. "God, I'm an idiot."

Ginny shook her head. "You didn't know. You couldn't know." Her head tilted to the side, back to the chateau. "Michel and Hermione have a plan. The Danish ministry is allowing us to use the Jelling runestones; as the French are planning on attacking at midnight London time and expect it'll take about three hours to force an endgame at Hogwarts, they want you to go at 4 AM Danish time. You will face judgment there; should you survive, the horcrux will be removed. After that... if you survive... all accredited members of the International Confederation of Wizards will recognize it as a pardon." She shrugged. "When the higher powers speak, everyone listens. Except the British, of course."

"Gee, what a surprise..." Harry drolled, then pushed himself up.

"... Ginny?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry's lips formed into a thin line. "Dying - not going for judgment, just killing myself. Sometimes I think it would be easier. No more worries, no more guilt... just let it be done."

Ginny swallowed. "Yes, it would be easier to kill yourself, Harry." She put a hand on his shoulder. "But we both know the easier way isn't always the best way. Besides, if the powers that be find you wanting, what's the difference?"

Harry nodded. "It'll all be over by tomorrow anyway," he agreed ruefully, "Might as well make it a blaze of glory." He looked back at the chateau. "If my trial is at 4 AM... we don't have a lot of time." He began to walk up to the chateau.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around. "Yes?"

Ginny pursed her lips. "Did you ever... think about us?"

Harry sighed. "I... when word of Voldemort's rising reached me, I thought I'd left all of you to die." He raised an eyebrow. "Even if the spelling was different, I named my daughter 'Ginny' for a reason."

"Oh."

Harry turned back to continue his walk up to the chateau, when a hand caught him. Startled, he found himself staring straight into Ginny's eyes; a moment later, she pressed up close to him in a passionate kiss.

A moment later, too soon for Harry to find himself lost, Ginny pulled away, a wistful smile on her face. "I'm sorry. It's just that... I promised myself as a little girl that I would kiss the great Harry Potter at least once. And maybe, that once would be enough. I know now that it's not... but the little girl in me wanted at least one."

Harry chuckled for a moment, then nodded. "I understand. I had a daughter, remember? Though she seemed to be crushing on Nick Jonas, for some reason."

Ginny blinked. "Who?"

Harry shrugged. "Some singer. Never quite understood the appeal... but you never question your daughter's eyes or ears." The laughter seemed to die on the wind; the two of them sauntered back to the chateau.

"So... what now?" Ginny asked.

Harry sighed. "I don't know. Let's let tonight work itself out; we'll see what's left at the dawn."

***

Lucius Malfoy sat in his plush chair in his office, awaiting word from the French ambassador.

Some of his colleagues cheered as they'd brought the Lamberts in; he knew better, as the kidnapping was only the first step. Kidnapping was only useful if the ransom was willing to be paid - and he had a feeling it wouldn't be. For the most part the French had been stalling for time, saying it wasn't possible for them to find Potter. They never would, of course, nor did he expect them to.

Which was why he was waiting to hear from the French ambassador, so he could give his next offer. While unpopular with the High Council, his next offer was more generous: binding oaths from the French and Americans that they would give no aid to Potter, nor allow him within their territories. If Potter were found, he was to be arrested on the spot and transferred to the British authorities. While he suspected the Voldemort regime might be required to produce a corresponding promise to never interfere in French and American politics again, he was confident they would accept.

To be honest, they really didn't have a choice. The French didn't want a war; no one did, really. However, until the agreements were signed, the possibility always loomed. It was a nasty form of detente, and he was hoping he'd guessed right.

The alarm, soon followed by a dull shudder, told him he'd guessed wrong.

He ran from his office in a flash, and looked to the auror running from the other end of the hall. "What's happened?"

"We're being attacked, sir!" the auror responded. "Pretty sure the Americans are involved, considering the stuff I'm seeing, but I heard French coming from outside, so it's likely both." He wiped the sweat off of his brow. "Orders, sir?"

Lucius growled. "The Ministry's defenses can't hold for long - maybe ten minutes at most. Orders are to notify as much of the Ministry as you can; tell them to report immediately to Hogwarts. Given the defenses there, we should be able to turn this into the sort of siege they don't want." He looked to the end of the corridor, and feared what lay beyond. "Your first priority is to the Dark Lord's life, then to the High Council's, then to your own. Once we know the High Council is making its way to Hogwarts, you order a tactical retreat there. We'll hole up, and then start to make the war very expensive for them." He gave the auror a dangerous glare. "Get to it, auror."

"Yes, sir!" The auror took off for the floo, presumably to alert the other Council members; Lucius made his way back to his office. He entered the doorway, stood there... and stopped.

The dull thud of some American contraption boomed in his ears. For the first time, he could hear, albeit faintly, the cries of battle roaring overhead. And, yet, it was the quietest moment he could ever remember. He looked at the sensitive documents on the desk, the contingency plans and threat assessments he and his predecessors created over the years. He looked at the missives he'd received as foreign minister, correspondences and agreements and plans and dreams.

Amazing how little it all meant to him, now that the wands were drawn. He stood there for another long moment, sighed, then pointed his wand at the desktop.

"Evanesco!"

With a flick and swish, the desk's contents vanished into some ether; he'd learned where back when he was at Hogwarts, but had long forgotten. He pointed his wand at the file cabinet in a corner and sighed; with another flick and swish, the cabinet disappeared to parts unknown.

He looked at his own private floo, and nodded resolutely. He had one call to make before joining his brethren at Hogwarts.

***

Dawn would be a long time coming, Harry thought as he stood in the middle of the stones. He could see the anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards the Danish had put up; while Harry knew it was as much for his own protection as for the protection of others, he knew he'd be brought into custody if he tried to escape.

Unconsciously, he tried to reach out to the British Isles, to see if he could feel anything from there - a childish thought at best, but worth a try. If all had gone according to plan, the British ministry building would have fallen, a contingent of French and American guards would be placed at all wizarding neighborhoods, and an army would be assembling outside of Hogwarts, seeking to drain the wards there of energy before mounting an attack.

He smiled at the thought. Maybe the French and Americans could achieve what the British had so miserably failed at - a wizarding world free of prejudice, free of death. He knew enough to know his place in the world.

There was no place for him. There was no place in this world for Death Eaters, and there was no place for him. Death shrank a man's place in the world, and death on the scale he'd delivered shrank his place down to nothing. Danish aurors were ready to take him into custody if he failed to present himself; the only place in the world left for him was this small parcel of land, a place ancients had marked as holy ground.

He looked at the group gathered around the Jelling stones. Danish aurors, French officials, American technomagi, British exiles... all to see the sort of wizarding spectacle not seen in centuries - a wizard willingly giving himself to the judgment of higher powers. He walked over to the few people left in the world that he cared about, and swallowed.

"Tonks?"

She'd left her hair white - all the better to see her in the moonlight. "Gotta admit, cousin... you sure know how to make an exit."

He chuckled softly. "You expect me to do something normal?" He grinned, and took his hand in hers. "Tonks... I wanted to say thanks. It was stupid of me to leave, I can see that now... but you went along anyway, and helped me build a life out there." He swallowed. "It may not have lasted long... but I enjoyed it."

Tonks reached out, and gave him a tight hug. "Me too, Harry. It was fun playing muggle for awhile." The two separated, and Harry found himself facing his other fellow exile - Luna.

"Luna? What can I say...?"

"There is nothing to say, Harry," she responded quickly. She reached out to hug him; however, Harry couldn't detect any sadness in her. "I too enjoyed my time away. And thank you... for showing me a world away from the one I knew."

Despite himself, Harry smiled. Luna was good at that - saying something to cheer him up, even in the darkest moments. His eyes turned to the sniffling brunette next to Luna, her eyes already red and puffy from crying.

"Hermione..."

Hermione quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. "Harry..." She wrapped her arms around him. "... we both know this has to be done. To be honest... I think I'll have to do this myself one day." She let go, then kissed him gently on the cheek. "Good luck, okay?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Th... thanks." He took a deep breath, and touched her hand. "And I'm sorry... for abandoning you and Ron."

Hermione nodded. "I'll see you on the other side, then." She let the hand go, then gestured to her right - to Ginny.

Harry walked over to her. "Ginny... where do I begin?"

"Come back," she responded fiercely. "That's where we'll begin."

He reached a hand up to cup her cheek. "If I can - if I deserve to - I will."

She nodded slowly, her brown eyes shining in the moonlight. "You will. Magic isn't that cruel."

She slowly drifted up to meet his face; Harry gasped as she kissed him once more, tenderly, a soft promise of what might have been. Harry responded in kind, a kiss that held all of what love was and little of what passion could be, then reluctantly pulled himself away.

A gentle hand touched his own - Delacour's. "It's time, Harry."

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes not wanting to leave hers; he slowly made his way to the larger of the two stones. The magic was as old as time, and more powerful than anything Voldemort could dream of. Kneeling, he laid his wand out in front of him, and spoke the words Delacour had taught him.

"Spiritus med fortid, nutid, og fremtid, jeg sende mig til din dom!"

And, in that moment, his world exploded in light.

***

Voldemort looked at the crowd in front of him, and growled.

Maybe a hundred survivors of the Ministry of Magic had made their way to Hogwarts. The High Council and their families comprised most of the crowd; beyond that, maybe twenty aurors and other officials had found their way before the floo network was shut down. As he had no illusions as to what was going on, he'd asked Snape to put the castle into full lockdown, making Hogwarts the most impenetrable location on the planet. And, fortunately for them, the bloody French didn't have a cupboard they could travel through.

Still, this was a difficult situation. Hogwarts wasn't the only 'impenetrable' castle of its day; indeed, similarly-fortified castles could be found near Powys and near East Lothian, if one bothered to dig. Noble wizards seeking to destroy the Wizengamot and its fledgling Ministry of Magic had holed up, slammed the gates shut, and dared the Ministry to take them. The solution in both cases was grim: the attackers set up their own powerful wards so the occupants couldn't leave, then buried the castles under tons of rock and dirt. What was once a castle had become a mountain.

Fortunately, that wasn't likely to be an option for the French. He had Hogwarts... and its hundred or so surviving students. He knew what he had; each child was a bargaining chip, one he could use to gain a bit of leverage against his enemy. If he could gain just enough, he could either get relief during the long siege or - just as well - force the invaders into a hasty assault on the castle, one which would lead to heavy casualties. Also... if he wanted to truly bring hell to the world... he'd learned a few rituals over the course of his life - rituals that thrived on the use of such innocents.

He took a deep breath and sat in the main chair in the Great Hall.

"Severus?"

Severus Snape bowed before him. "Yes, my Lord?"

Voldemort pursed his lips in thought. "What do our food stocks look like?"

Snape looked up to the air in thought. "Given the radical changes in the number of its guests, I would say Hogwarts has about two years' worth of food currently under preservation charm."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Good." He bore his eyes into Snape. "Then let us see to our guests. It is time that we make accommodations for-"

A sharp pain hit his chest, and his eyes widened. He'd been warned about that sensation; the texts he'd read from previous horcrux makers had been quite explicit in their descriptions. Sharp pain, a dulling of magical sight, a tingling in his extremities...

The last horcrux had been destroyed. He was mortal.

Growling, he turned to the crowd. "Something has come up. If we are to hold up in this place for any period of time, there are rituals that I will need to perform to strengthen our position. If you wish to survive this... I suggest you follow my commands, and help me in its setup."

***

Colonel Anderson, head of the U.S. 75th Army Regiment (Magical), looked nervously at the draining stones, then up at the castle.

The draining stones had been tested, of course. Every piece of equipment the Army used was thoroughly tested before being put into the field - including the magical pieces. And that was what worried him.

The large-size draining stones had been tested on the best magical shields the Americans could find. The problem was that the best magical shields the Americans could actually test on were nowhere near the strength of Hogwarts' wards. It was hard to say whether the stones scattered all around the perimeter of Hogwarts would be enough; already, the stones were glowing, and that wasn't a good sign. Draining stones tended to fail spectacularly, and it wasn't a good idea being anywhere near one when it failed.

Sighing, he pulled out his tobacco and pipe. Even if they did work, it would be hours before anything could be done. And if they didn't... if they didn't, then he was in for a long winter in Britain.

***

Harry looked around. Fog surrounded him; he could barely see his own hand, let alone anything nearby. He wasn't sure if this was supposed to happen or not, but the only thing he could do was wait.

Then again, maybe this was the point - sit for an eternity and contemplate his sins. He sighed and sat down, and decided it was time to start.

"You have come to stand judgment over all creation." A thousand voices, speaking in unison, shook Harry from his thoughts; he quickly stood up. "Are you prepared to face our judgment?"

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "I am."

"Even if it means your life?"

Harry nodded. "Even if."

"Even if it means your eternal damnation?"

Harry sighed. "For what I've done, I'm already damned."

"We'll be the judge of that."

The fog lifted, and Harry stared at his surroundings. It looked as though he stood at the center of some weird mix of the Wizengamot and the stadium for the Quidditch World Cup. Wooden benches surrounded him as far as his eye could see, containing literally thousands of people of all ages, races, and genders. Some wore the flowing robes of pureblood wizards; almost as many wore typical muggle attire.

His eyes met the eyes of a teenager in the crowd, and he shuddered. He'd seen those eyes before, in the Three Broomsticks as he placed the portable pyroclastic flow there. He swallowed nervously, then nodded, understanding.

He was facing his accusers.

His eyes caught another familiar face, in this case the former auror Amelia Bones, and he had a moment of hope. It wasn't just his accusers who were in attendance. The main players in Voldemort's war were being judged by those who were destroyed by it.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around. Madame Rosmerta stood there, a glowing ball in her hands. "Um... Hi, Madam Rosmerta." He gulped nervously. "I'm sorry about what happened."

Madam Rosmerta nodded. "I know, Harry. We know what you went through, and what pushed you to do what you did." She took a deep breath. "Harry... everyone felt that I was the most unbiased person for this." She stretched the glowing ball of energy in front of him. "Here."

Harry blinked. "What is this?"

Madam Rosmerta grimaced. "The cost of what you've done."

Harry gulped, then nodded. "I understand." He picked up the light from Rosmerta's hands, then stared at it curiously.

The light flew into his forehead; the effect was instantaneous. He bit back a scream as heat vaporized his flesh, exploded his bones - then repeated it over and over again. He fell to his knees as wave after wave of pain washed over him; he lost count as to how often he burned. Occasionally he felt the pain of a reducto, as counterpoint to the inferno.

And then came the laments. No words are more painful to the dead than 'what might have been'. Children and careers that would never be. Dreams snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane. Families turned to dust. The anguish that so much of humanity would not be, and would never be again. Harry curled up into a ball, crying for the lives lost, crying for futures lost.

Shaking, he made his way to his feet, and bowed to Rosmerta. "... Thank you."

Rosmerta nodded. "You had to face your sins. You had to face the consequences of your past." She sighed. "Now... you have to face your future."

Harry fell back down, his knees still weak from his sins. "Do I have to kill him?"

Rosemerta nodded. "Look around you. This is only the beginning - if he isn't stopped tonight."

Another voice cut in - one that hit him like a shot to the gut. "It has to end, Daddy."

He turned around to see Ginny - his daughter Ginny - standing there, her dark hair chaotic as usual, her blue eyes shining. Harry wrapped his arms around her, his body demanding one more hug, one more moment with his daughter. "Ginny... Pumpkin, I... I love you. I'm so sorry..." He didn't care if he would be damned for telling her; some things are worth damnation.

She kissed him on the cheek and gave her that dazzling smile he would have given his soul for. "I know, Daddy. I love you too." She lowered her head slightly. "But Daddy... I'm sorry. It has to stop, Daddy - and to do that, you have to bring him back."

Harry nodded slowly. "I... I don't know if I can."

"You can, Daddy... you've always known you can. When the time is right... you can."

Harry found it difficult to breathe. "When?"

Another voice came from behind them - a very familiar voice. "Fate and Death do not like being denied, Harry," Anna answered. "When the time is right, we will release you back into the world, right where you need to be."

Harry stood up; unconsciously, he kept a hand on his daughter's head, to keep her near. "Anna..."

Others came to join her - his parents, Albus Dumbledore, several Weasleys. Lily Potter walked up to him and gave him a hug. "We don't have much time. But Harry... I want you to know that I have always loved you - no matter what."

"I... I love you too," Harry choked out. "Love you all."

Lily smiled, and gently disentangled Ginny from Harry's grasp. "It's time, Harry. Good luck."

Harry moved to voice a reply; before he could, the world around him vanished in light.

***

"Something's wrong."

Ginny turned at Hermione's proclamation. "What do you mean?"

Hermione blew into her hands to keep them warm. "The judgment of the Jelling Stones is instantaneous. After a momentary glow, the person either walks away... or is killed." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Reports of those who have faced the Stones talk of spending hours or even days in judgment - but, to those watching, it only seemed like a moment. For Harry to still be glowing..."

Ginny bit her lip. "It has to be a good sign, right? After all, wouldn't Harry have been killed already?"

Hermione sighed. "Probably. But why the delay?"

***

Severus Snape was worried.

While potions may have been his strong suit, dark arts were a necessary subject for any decent wizard born around 1960, and he was an acknowledged master of the subject. Moreover, given his relationship with Albus Dumbledore, he understood as much about horcruxes as anyone who hadn't ever made one. Maybe a potions expert would understand the meaning of the dark, noxious brew he had currently simmering in the corner, maybe an arithmancy expert would know what the ritual calculations intended, and maybe a rune expert would understand what the runes that encircled the ritual circle were for, but his life - his experience - was enough to know everything about what was happening.

His mind was racing, trying to determine what had led to this, and what to do from this. He guessed that the last horcrux had been destroyed, judging by the momentary flash of pain Voldemort experienced, accompanied by his change of plans. However, there was one other bit that was an absolute certainty, and it caused him no small amount of worry.

Someone in that castle was going to die at Voldemort's hand.

Voldemort looked up from the preparation of the circle, and smiled. "Tell me, Severus... are there any students that you would rather... be rid of?"

Severus paused, feigning ignorance and surprise. "My Lord?"

Voldemort smiled lazily. "You know, Severus... the prankster... the complete failure... the mudblood-lover... surely there must be one student of yours that would deserve death?"

Severus took a step back. "My Lord... please spare my students... too many have died already..."

"Crucio!"

Severus winced and closed his eyes. Every part of his body screamed in agony; every noise rattled in his head; every point of light felt like a spike right in his eyes. He didn't scream - he refused to scream - but he was knocked to his hands and knees by the pain.

After what seemed an eternity, the pain subsided. Voldemort stalked around him, his face twisted into a sneer.

"Know this, Snape. Every person in here - every wizard, every student - is MINE. Their lives are mine to take at my leisure! Now I ask you again, 'Headmaster' Snape. Which student dies?"

Severus looked down at his shaking hands, his mind racing. Voldemort was asking him - HIM - to decide who died. In theory, he could probably order the death of a High Councillor's child, but that wouldn't make him popular. Someone was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it, except choose.

He realized... there was one more person he could choose. He bowed his head, and started muttering to himself.

Voldemort raised a nonexistent eyebrow. "Prayer, Severus? After all you've done, I doubt God will show mercy on you."

Prayer... Severus chuckled despite himself. Maybe it was a form of prayer - a prayer of deliverance.

At that moment, Lucius Malfoy burst into the room. "My Lord! The gates are open; the defenses are down! The invaders are pouring in!"

Snape looked over at the table; with a flick of his wand, the cauldron poured onto the floor, rendering it useless. "I made my choice as to who would die, My Lord." He slowly made his way to his feet. "And I chose you."

Voldemort's eyes widened in outrage. "Why you... Avada Kevadra!"

Snape opened his arms wide as the curse approached.

***

Fifteen minutes.

Hermione looked at her watch and frowned. Fifteen minutes he'd been kneeling there, not moving, his form aglow from divine magics. The ministers and aurors and ambassadors were starting to get nervous; no doubt each of them had been briefed on the stones' operation, and were realizing that something had gone wrong.

"Harry..."

The glow brightened; for a moment, daylight had come back to Jelling. The glowing form collapsed into a point, rose into the air, and sped off.

"He... he's gone," Ginny whispered. "He's gone..."

"From here, yes," Luna responded, a wide grin on her face. "Did you happen to notice which direction he went?"

Hermione frowned, and tried to get her bearings. If the direction she was facing was north, then... "West. He flew west." Her eyes widened. "To Britain."

Luna nodded. "Something tells me that some Death Eaters are going to have a very bad day."

***

Harry gazed out at Hogwarts' Great Hall, and swallowed.

He'd seen this nightmare played out a hundred times in his sleep. The fight against the Death Eaters had become a war to the knife; French and American troops battled against the Death Eaters, with quarter neither asked for nor given. Tables and furniture were turned on its side to provide some form of cover - protection from the death that rained down on all. Dozens of people had already been claimed by the reaper, a strange mix of Reducto bloody and Avada Kavadra pristine. This was the slaughter he'd run away from, with foreign proxies in for his already-dead friends.

The curses slowly died down to nothing; Harry took a step back. Hundreds of eyes stared in his direction, jaws dropped in disbelief. He frowned; what, had they never seen the Boy Who Lived before?

At least one person had. Lucius Malfoy was the first to react; Harry instinctively dove away from an Avada Kevadra, then moved to cast a Reducto in response.

There were only two issues with this. As his hand pointed toward Lucius, he realized he'd left his wand in Denmark.

Thing is... it didn't matter. His eyes widened at his glowing arm, a beam of pure magic, and Lucius' arm exploding in a shower of gore.

People were beginning to snap out of their daze; Voldemort's troops were learning why it wasn't a good idea to turn your back on an enemy. Several Death Eaters died spectacularly as the soldiers took advantage of the distraction.

Harry winced. He couldn't exactly describe it, but he felt them die. Saw them die, too, as their souls escaped their bodies.

Unconsciously, his eyes widened as he took in the details of the Great Hall. Before, his magical sight had been decently powerful; unlike most, he could actually see active magical fields such as anti-apparation wards. But now... he could see everything. He could see the enchantments that showed the night sky above Hogwarts - and the stones and arches that lay beyond it. He could see the ripples of curses as the flew through the air; stunned, he could see the Avada Kevadra as it grabbed a soul and ripped it from the body. He could even see the strands of magic that tied the Death Eaters to their master.

In that moment, he knew why he'd been sent here, and what he had to do. He'd made a promise, and it was time for him to keep it.

With a thought, a shield slammed between the soldiers and their Death Eater opponents; both sides blinked as their curses stopped in midair.

With another, he reached out to the dying. He willed the dying to heal - not enough for them to get back into the fight, but more than enough to keep them from the reaper's clutches.

That left one more thing to do.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

He reached his left arm out in Voldemort's direction, then yanked to the side; Voldemort flew through the air and crashed against the wall. Harry set up another shield to separate Voldemort from his Death Eaters, and walked toward Voldemort's dazed, bleeding body.

The Death Eaters' eyes widened. They started to send what curses they could through the shield; all were absorbed by the shield. A few enterprising Death Eaters aimed Reductos at the floor and ceiling, hoping the debris could hit him; a good idea in theory, but a failure in practice.

Voldemort shook himself out of his stupor, and rose to his feet. "Potter! Finally crawled out from the rock you were hiding under?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't going to engage in this banter. "It's over, Riddle."

"It's never over," Voldemort snarled. "Avada Kavadra!"

The curse seemed to travel in slow motion from Voldemort's wand; with a casual gesture, Harry brushed it aside. "Too many have died already because of us, Tom. It ends tonight."

The curses flew from Voldemort's lips, dark magics most of their audience had never heard of; Harry willed them away. He walked up, grabbed Voldemort's wand arm, and forced it upwards.

"Death is waiting for us, Tom."

With that, he reached his other hand into Voldemort's chest. His magic told him he had a grip on something. Harry sighed, and gave a sad smile.

"I'm sorry."

With that, he pulled his arm back and yanked; the tattered fragments of Voldemort's soul came with him. Light engulfed his vision as he watched Voldemort fall...

***

Harry stared out at the judgment hall that had become his afterlife. He could hear the sound of distant screams as Voldemort met his judgment; he wasn't sure what it was like to rip your soul in two, but Harry suspected it sounded a lot like that.

Despite all of that, he wasn't sure what to make of it. He hadn't just contemplated the road Voldemort traveled; he'd gone down the road a few miles, and found out it was a one-way street.

But there would be no more. He wasn't sure what the result of the Hogwarts battle would be, but he knew the Death Eaters would fold without their leader. Voldemort was dead - for good - and the Death Eaters didn't have anyone else with the power to continue the fight.

He sighed. It was over. He just wished the cost hadn't been so high.

"So that's it," he sighed, to no one in particular.

"That depends."

He turned around to find Anna, his wife, standing there. "Anna...?"

She smiled. "Touch my hand, dear."

Harry touched his wife's hand - and he gasped. He felt every bit of the love she'd held for him. Sensing what was happening, he did the same, sending the joy of every moment he'd spent with her. Seeing her response, he reached out to hug her, to take her in his arms once more.

"God, Anna..."

"Harry," she replied breathlessly. She always did have beautiful eyes, he thought - bright, sky-blue eyes. "Sometimes we need to know that we were loved. On the mortal plane, we do this with our words, with our actions - a touch, a hug, a tender moment. On this plane... we can do a little more."

Harry smiled. "If the afterlife is like this..."

"It is your choice as to whether to stay or not, love." She raised an eyebrow, and Harry straightened up in surprise; he knew that look. "That said... I think you need to go back."

Harry blinked. "I... what?"

Anna gave him an incredulous look, the sort she gave him when he was doing something stupid. "Harry, love, I know what the world is like. I also know how you feel about her - and how she feels about you." She took a step back, and gave a gentle squeeze of his hands. "Harry, I loved and was loved. That's enough. My path is done." She smiled mischievously. "Yours is just beginning."

Harry found himself searching for words. "But... Anna..."

"I know," she whispered. She sighed, and gave her sternest gaze. "But so do you."

***

Epilogue

Ginny stared out of the window of the auto, losing herself in the scenery.

He hadn't come back. They'd waited until morning, hoping that he'd come back, but he didn't come back. Reports had come from Hogwarts, how he'd literally dragged Voldemort's soul from his body before they disappeared... but he hadn't returned after that.

The next few months had just... existed to her. She didn't think Harry Potter could make her hurt so much again, but he had. And, this time, she couldn't blame him. This time, he had been the hero he was supposed to be; he had been the savior. Most of Britain still wanted him dead - some things could not be forgiven, after all - but the Voldemort statues had been torn down as well. Britain would never be back to normal, and would probably take centuries to heal, but the process was starting.

Still, it was a Britain she could never return to. It hurt too much. The place had made her prince - and destroyed him at the same time. She'd stayed around Chateau Delacour, barely eating, barely even leaving her room.

When Hermione had finally suggested a trip to America - a "road trip", as she'd called it - Ginny hadn't been in much mood to agree or disagree. It didn't matter, anyway. Still, it was lovely country, and a lovely ride. She'd cried in Luna's lap as she mourned Harry's passing on the first day; that night, they'd stayed up to look at the stars, and talk about old astronomy lessons. The second day had been Hermione talking about America, about what she went through after Ron's death, and the slow process of putting her life back together. There had been more tears, more screaming, but still feeling better after it was all done.

She was starting to see why Hermione liked these sorts of trips. The scenery was beautiful, the conversation cathartic. Still, she wanted a shower; traveling wasn't the best for keeping clean. She smiled as Hermione pulled off the highway and into a small town; the witch in her could see the magic in the community.

Ginny blinked. "Is this a wizarding town, Hermione?"

Hermione chuckled. "Not really. About the only real wizarding communities you'll see in the US disguise themselves as touristy renaissance fairs or historically-preserved villages. That way, they make money, and no one notices the odd bits of magic." She smiled quietly. "No... the reason we're here is because the DoM has an office in the area, and I'm told there's a great little magical bed and breakfast here in town."

"Oh," Ginny responded. After a long moment, she turned back out to the window, and tried to pick out the magic from the mundane. There seemed to be a large amount of magic.

Finally, they pulled in front of a large, older house that would not have looked too far out of place in Wizarding Britain. What struck her about the place was the windows; the front of the house seemed covered with them. Ginny felt the air, and smiled; the place had a magical signature much like any other older wizarding house she'd seen. The place felt like the Burrow; the magic of the house invited, and made her feel at home.

"Ah... here we are." Hermione pulled in front of the house, and shut down the engine. "Leena's Bed and Breakfast."

"Looks nice," Ginny commented, then opened her car door. Freedom after spending ten hours in a car... she stretched her legs as she braced herself against the car, desperate to get the feeling back into them.

"Let me help you with your bags."

The soft voice caused Ginny's world to stop. She knew that voice. She whirled around, desperately wishing it wasn't her imagination...

He had soft brown hair that still didn't know how to behave; some things could be changed with magic, and some things couldn't. His green eyes were one of those things that couldn't; he had too much magic to hide what was inside, not from people who knew. His features were still classic Potter; a long, dignified face, a nose well on its way to being hawklike as he aged, a wiry frame that had made Potter men deadly with a wand for centuries.

She noticed one other thing: the scar was gone. "H..."

"Hi. My name's Tom. Tom Black. The DoM just hired me a few months ago."

Ginny blinked for a moment, then decided to heck with it. She launched herself into his arms. "Harry!"

She felt his arms wrap around her, and a soft voice overwhelm her thoughts. "Shhh, Ginny. Harry Potter is supposed to be dead, remember?" He heard another whisper, even softer than the last. "Sorry I couldn't tell you."

Ginny stopped at those words. Too many people would have wanted Harry dead - if he had survived. But here... in a place like this...

She had her happy ending.

She felt, rather than heard, his next words. "Come on, Ginny. Let's go inside."

She practically floated her way into the house as he held her in his arms. She didn't know where she was - what state or what city or whatever - but she had a name for it now.

She was home.


End file.
